Abigail had her stitches removed on Tuesday. We had plans to go to the library and I thought library would distract from the horror of stitch removal. It worked even if the removal was worse than stitching her skin back together in the first place. I attribute it to the difference in nurses--on was gentle and kind, the other just man-handled us. (Sometimes I leave places and wish I was more abrasive, but alas.)
Abigail was all excited about getting her stitches out. . . until we pulled into the lot. The conversation went something like this:
A: I don't want get my stitches out.
M: I know, but they must come out. You were so brave last week.
A: But I don't want get my stitches out.
M: Remember how we prayed that Jesus would help you be brave and calm last week. He did, didn't He.
A: Mhhh. (affirmative grunt)
M: Would you like to pray that He will help you today.
M: Jesus, thank you for being with me last week.
A: Jesus, tank you for being wiff me wast week.
M: Thank you for helping me be brave.
A: Tank you for halping me be bwrave.
M: Please help me be brave today.
A: Pwease halp me be bwrave today.
M: Please. . .
A: Please help me get candy. Anem. (cheesy grin)
Bravery and candy, who could ask for anything more? The bravery she got, the candy, not so much, remember the mean nurse.